Play Ball
by Gunney
Summary: Starsky and Hutch participate in a Public Service Appreciation Day at the Bay City Baseball Stadium with 10 boys from the Big Brother's Organization, and a teenaged Kiko. Of course, things go awry.
1. Chapter 1

"This is going to be the best day ever!" Starsky exploded. The energy threatening to burst from his body was greater than most of the ten kids they were surrounded by, put together.

Hutch glanced at his partner, rolled his eyes, then finished passing out the tickets to eager 10- and 11-year-old hands. Right when he ran out of tickets another hand appeared, much bigger than the rest and Hutch slapped it. "We get in free, dummy."

"Come on, Hutch...it's a baseball game! It's peanuts and cracker jacks and hot dogs and...singing songs and dancing in the stands and cheering for your favorite pitcher...pure Americana!"

Hutch scanned the group of children still waiting in the crowd that milled on the concrete platform outside the stadium. Scalpers were hedging their way closer to desperate looking parents. There were probably a handful of pick pockets roaming through the bustle and a hundred other possible opportunists waiting for the perfect mark. The bouncing, over excited 39-year-old little kid, yelling about pure Americana and processed mystery meat wedged into pig skin was a distraction he couldn't use at the moment.

This might have been Starsky's idea of a great way to spend the day, but not Hutch.

"Starsky, the game is boring. One long inning after another. The guys run in circles to make points. You could get the same thrill on a carousel ride. Anybody can play baseball, that's why it's America's favorite pastime."

The look Starsky was giving him threatened a blow up. His partner was stunned and angry, and about to blow a gasket, but the crowd moved and the doors opened, giving Hutch a five to ten minute break. Thousands of retired cops, firemen, librarians and off-duty service men, plus even more kids flooded into the stadium for a once in a lifetime opportunity. It was Public Service Appreciation Day and the stadium would be theirs from 8am to 9pm.

For the morning hours fans of the two double-A teams facing off that day, could talk with the players, practice pitching or swinging with real, professional coaches, get their pictures taken sliding into home base or a dozen other activities that sounded great to fans of the game, or the teams.

Hutch had called it mind-numbing torture. After spending hours getting sunburned and itchy they would then be invited to a giant picnic lunch in the stands and the baseball game would begin.

With as many hard working civil servants in the stands as Hutch suspected there would be, his only hope was that adult beverages would be sold at some point in the evening. He didn't plan to get drunk, not while chaperoning 10 kids from the Big Brother's organization, but something to knock the edge off would be nice. Or maybe something to knock the over exuberant Starsky out for a while.

"We used to go to baseball games all the time when I was kid. Aunt Rosie loved baseball. She was a bigger fan than anybody else in my family." Starsky expounded, then laughed. "Literally. I mean...Aunt Rosie, she was a female Babe Ruth...you know."

Hutch wasn't paying attention, intentionally, and Starsky kept tapping his arm until he responded. He tried a half-hearted smile and the tapping went away. Hutch counted heads, familiar with only four out of the ten boys. Kiko was with them on this trip, even though he was too old for the program. Technically he was a junior chaperone, but Hutch had the feeling Kiko was just as excited about the opportunity as the rest.

Once they were through the doors the kids gathered around the two and a half adults, jittering with excitement at all the commotion around them. Hutch handed out the event cards, reading off some of the experiences listed, driving their energy levels higher and higher.

"Are we supposed to leave the stadium before noon?" Hutch asked finally, making sure his voice was loud enough for the kids to hear.

"No!" Some of them chorused.

"Are we supposed to meet at our seats at 2pm?"

It was a trick question and he got a lot of confused glances before his partner prompted, "No."

"When do we meet at our seats?"

"Noon." Distracted voices called back.

"Alright, go have fun! Stay with your partner." Hutch shouted, and the boys scattered like mice, breaking into groups of two or four. Kiko was among them, haranguing a group of the older boys with his own unique style. He'd turned into quite the kid, Hutch thought smirking, then glanced around for his own partner.

He hadn't gone far. Starsky had found a vendor selling coffee and, of course, donuts, and had purchased one of each item for the both of them. The animated conversation he was having with the lady behind the counter had her blushing and grinning and Starsky's over-confident saunter kicked into being when he finally broke away.

"You get her number?" Hutch asked, taking the offered cup of coffee but passing on the donut.

"Who? Oh...Lily? Nah, she's married."

"Couldn't tell to look at her." Hutch said, smirking as his partner's eyebrows bounced. They sipped the heads off the cups of coffee then started along the circular promenade echoing with excited shouts and screeches. There were children and adults everywhere, many of them vaguely familiar. Before long they'd met up with a dozen fellow officers from other precincts, a few firemen they knew, more than a dozen legal secretaries out with their children or husbands and at least one very familiar librarian.

Dorice was delighted to see Hutch and very shyly gave him a hug before she blushed and scurried away, her own passel of kids to look after.

"Heart breaker." Starsky had accused, grinning broadly.

They'd completed the full circle of the promenade at least once before Starsky started to get antsy, peering into the stadium through the rectangular archways that popped up every thirty feet. Hutch's plan had involved avoiding the activities and keeping an eye on the perimeter in case any of the ten, admittedly mischievous boys, decided to take off. He was content letting the noise and the bustle flow around him, invested in maintaining his reputation with the Big Brother's organization as a trustworthy chaperone.

Starsky was there for the baseball and to be an extra set of eyes. Hutch could feel the pull the bright shell of green had for his partner, but he knew the brunet would stick by his side. And get more antsy and annoying as the day stretched on.

"Maybe you could keep an eye on the guys from the field." Hutch suggested casually.

"We could both...you know, go out there. Be easier to keep track of 'em all."

"I like it out here, Starsk. You go ahead." Hutch said.

"You sure...I mean...it's gonna be boring out here." Starsky said, already putting a little distance between them, drawing closer to one of the archways.

"I'm a boring kinda guy." Hutch muttered into the last of his coffee. When he looked back up he was surprised to see Starsky still there giving him a look of contemplation. "I'll be fine, buddy."

"I'll...keep an eye on the kids." Starsky said, throwing his pointer finger over his shoulder before he turned and disappeared down the short, dark tunnel.

Hutch watched him go and thought about the last time he'd willingly walked into a baseball stadium. It hadn't been from the spectator entrances, and he hadn't spent any time in the promenade. He'd spent a lot of time out on the field, and even more time down in the bullpen and the locker room and walking through the bowels of the complex, waiting.

Waiting for the one thing that mattered to him at the time to be decided. Knowing that one decision was going to rocket him toward a kind of fame, or send him in a completely opposite life direction. And it wasn't his decision to make either.

He'd never fully figured out where he'd gone wrong. His parents had said he was burning the candle at both ends and needed to focus on his studies. Hutch had known that medicine wasn't the end all for him. What he'd wanted the most...what he'd worked the summer and fall for...was taken from him the spring of his sophomore year.

Then he'd left school, headed west, found his way from job to job until a recruiter suggested he join the police academy. Then...then he'd turned into the police detective he was that day, pacing around a baseball stadium the way a fallen believer avoided the sanctuary in a cathedral.

Almost a half hour had passed before Starsky was back. This time he had a bag of peanuts that he was munching from, the coffee cup discarded. Hutch still had a centimeter of cold, black brew left in his cup. They walked silently around the promenade together, until Hutch had stopped at a trash can to throw his cup away, and Starsky his empty peanut bag.

Hutch was about to start off another round of meandering when Starsky put his finger on the spot just under the moon shaped necklace Hutch wore. Hutch glanced down, expecting to find a smudge of food.

"What's goin' on with you?" Starsky asked, still working on the last of the peanuts that he'd shoved into his mouth. "Huh? Somebody spoil your soy, goat milk, spinach extract shake this morning?"

Hutch shrugged, smirking a little at the mush Starsky always assumed he ate. The truth was the coffee he'd just finished had been the only thing he'd eaten that morning. He was hungry, under the wierd jolts of nostalgia and fear. It was like being a recovered junky and watching someone shoot up, knowing it was bad for you, but unable to fight that need.

It was a parallel he shouldn't have thought of, in the end, based on the response it got from his partner. Starsky tilted his head and his brows creased, sincere concern in his eyes for how pale Hutch had just turned.

"You feelin' alright?"

Hutch took a deep breath, looked over his partner's shoulder at the bright swath of sunlight bathing a kelly green field and said, "I'm fine. Let's go check on the kids."

The turnaround was instant, and while the outcome was what Starsky had wanted, his brother with him potentially enjoying the day, it had happened too quickly. Starsky hung back a step or two, watching Hutch until the blond glanced back at him. They stepped into the sun together, descending the mostly empty stands and heading out onto the crowded outfield.

They found most of the boys in very short order, gathered around one of the pitching coaches, each getting a chance to pitch the ball at a target. Kiko spotted them instantly and waved them over, eventually working Starsky into the line of boys waiting to throw the ball. Kiko tried to push Hutch into joining Starsky but the blond refused, smiling and shaking his head, but obstinate about not jumping into the line.

Kiko shrugged, not used to his long time mentor being so reluctant, but willing to give Hutch his space. The spectacle of a right handed pitching coach trying to force the left-handed Starsky to pitch with his off-dominant hand was enough of a distraction that Kiko was soon focused on other things.

Hutch was trying to back away from the group when he nearly stepped on the toe of one of the costumed mascots. He heard a high pitched yelp then felt something hard but cloth covered thump into his back and jumped, whirling around. A five-foot-even felt chicken was glaring at him, holding one foot and emitting more swear words than a chicken should've known.

Especially one that sounded so young, and so feminine. "Will you watch where you're goin', pally! I gotta wear this thing whether you see me in it or not."

For some reason the voice, or the words, or just the fact of the strangely designed chicken head, made Hutch laugh. He put his arms out to stabilize the chicken, apologizing and laughing at the same time. "Did I hurt ya?"

"Only my pride, thanks a lot for laughin'." The chicken groused, still limping a little. "You mind telling me what's so funny!?"

"Well...you are, but isn't that the point?"

"From the stands maybe, but not right up in person. Jerk." The chicken protested, ripping its wing out of Hutch's hand and stomping away.

Hutch winced, and watched the mascot making sure she made it to wherever she was going without meeting further insult or injury, then felt a familiar tap to his arm. There was more to see and do, and Hutch let Starsky drag him around for another thirty minutes before he noticed one of the boys lagging.

Hutch thought his name might have been Jimmy. He broke away from the group and stood by Jimmy, watching the others get their photo's taken with the top hitters from each of the teams. They stood in silence for a bit, set apart from the crowd, before Jimmy said, "It's real dumb, ain't it?"

"What? Getting your picture taken?"

"Yeah. I mean. What's a pi'ture gonna do? So what if those guys make it to the big leagues someday. Who cares if you took a pi'ture with 'em when you were a little kid? A pi'ture don't talk to ya. A pi'ture don't have memories."

Hutch would have been the first to admit that he didn't know the histories of the boys he'd agreed to chaperone. However, most of them were in the Big Brother program because they didn't have male leadership in their lives. It was easy to assume that a picture meant so little to Jimmy because that was all he had of his father.

Most of those boys were likely to take their pictures to show-and-tell some school day and brag about the day they'd had. But Jimmy had seen beyond that. He was desperate to make attachments that mattered, and not friendships that ended where his relationship with his father had. In a tin frame. Hutch could relate to a degree, a photo was nice, but not the point of a lifetime experience.

"What if you and I got a picture with them together? I mean...I'll still be around, after today is over. We can show it to people together."

Jimmy's head came up, his face showing a self-awareness beyond his years, but Hutch could see hope in his eyes. "And you know if we include Starsky he'll probably do something goofy. It'll be a funny photo then, huh?"

Jimmy's thin lips curled up in the beginnings of a smile and Hutch knew he had him. It took half a minute to explain to Starsky and the two players posing for photos, and the picture they took was the goofiest the photographer saw all day. It had the round of boys laughing and shrieking and Jimmy proudly gave the photographer his name so that he could get the photo later in the day.

The tightness in Hutch's chest, the pressure of warped memories closing in on him, had eased with the burst of silliness, and Starsky relaxed a little, figuring that had been all his partner needed. Hutch was still subdued through the morning, but participated more readily, especially if Jimmy was looking hesitant. By the time lunch was served in the stands the hot sun and the morning full of activity had worn the boys down and they lounged tiredly against the plastic seats, lackadaisically munching on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and chips.

Hutch glanced at his partner when he heard the contented sigh for the second time and smirked. "You know...you join up with Big Brothers, you can do this sort of thing all the time."

"Goof around with kids all day long? And let you run around being gloomy, unsupervised? No way. Too risky." Starsky said, shaking his head.

"I'm not gloomy."

"You are gloomy-"

"I'm not-"

"You got a cloud, right there near that vein that just popped out." Starsky smirked and Hutch rolled his eyes, unable to fight the smile.

"It's...bringin' back memories. That's all."

"Oh." Starsky said, then it hit him, and his eyes widened. "Ohh!" He said then slapped a hand down on Hutch's back and squeezed his shoulder. "Sorry about that buddy."

"It's ok."

"Forgot about that." Starsky said, his voice a little quieter, focused on the sandwich that he'd begun to lose interest in. "Why'd you agree to come on this trip?"

Hutch shrugged, watching the boys. At least two of them had managed to fall asleep in the stadium seats. Three were gathered around Kiko trading stories, and expounding on events that had happened less than two hours ago. Jimmy was keeping another boy in stitches with a goofy replay of the day and the other three were exchanging the baseball cards they'd brought with them. Kids being kids.

"These are the kids we might be arresting somewhere down the line." Hutch said quietly, knowing statistically that he was right, but hoping optimistically that he was wrong. "I get to know them now…"

Starsky nodded, knowing where his partner was going. It was the reason Hutch had volunteered for the program in the very beginning, and kept up with it for so long. To stop the kids who were still, well, incubating, from becoming bad eggs. By showing them cops that cared.

Preventive policing.

"Shame you can't tell 'em…" Starsky said after a moment. "I mean...they would'a got a thrill outta seein' you pitch a few."

Hutch studied his partner for a moment then shook his head. "It's the past. I'd rather it stay that way. Hey listen, I'm gonna take care of this trash and maybe...go find some aspirin. I'll be right back."

"You got a headache?"

"Too much sun." Hutch said, collecting the crumbled paper bags that the boys had strewn everywhere, before he headed up the concrete flight of stairs and into the cool darkness of the promenade. The farther he got from that wide open space, buzzing with energy, the better he felt.

Maybe it was the sun, or the noise that made him itchy and uneasy. Maybe he just needed a few minutes to himself, a few minutes to recoup before he went back in.

"It's a baseball stadium, Hutch, not a torture chamber." He told himself, stuffing paper bags into an already overstuffed trash can. Hutch scanned the mill of adults and kids, all moving with the hazy slowness of a morning spent in the steady heat, then wove his way through the crowd and bought a few packs of bubble gum from a vendor, 13 Cokes and a small packet of aspirin.

The boys had behaved admirably after all, and they deserved a treat, Hutch told himself. He was standing at the counter trying to devise a way to carry all 13 bottles when the vendor produced the cardboard carriers the bottles had come from. They'd been sitting in ice all day, so the cardboard would only last as long as it was dry, but Hutch was certain he could get back to the boys in time. He shoved the gum and the small bottle of aspirin in his jeans' pocket and started back toward the stands but a tap on the arm stopped him.

"Hey...uh." The chicken said, sounding nervous. "Can I help you carry those?"

"Um…" Hutch's brow creased and he glanced toward the archway then said, "No, I...I think I got it. Besides I don't know that you should be climbing those stairs in that...outfit. Can you see outta that thing?"

The cloth wing was still pressed against his arm and he could feel the dig of slender fingers pressing into his arm. Whoever was behind the chicken head wasn't going to let go easy.

"Yeah, yeah….I mean...I mean, no. Probably not, but I can carry something else. Or...I can just follow you maybe."

Hutch scanned the crowd around them, looking for eyes trained unnecessarily on the little mascot. "What happens if I step on you again?" He asked.

Most of the people around them were talking, shuffling from one destination to the next, trying to navigate and focused on each other. Only a handful of people were standing still and most of them were stadium security.

"You won't!" The chicken said confidently, then cast a glance over her shoulder. The act couldn't have been subtle if her life depended on it, but she did it quickly enough, Hutch was confident she'd worn the costume before. If she wasn't nervous because she wasn't supposed to be wearing the costume, he didn't want to know.

"Uh...look, no offense but...if you're...I mean...if something's going on, there's security guys all over here. I'm kinda preoccupied at the moment."

"I'll say…" The chicken said, and the tone of voice struck Hutch as extremely familiar. He could also feel the cold condensation on the bottles seeping through the cardboard and knew he was running out of time if he planned on getting all the bottles to their destination intact.

"You see those guys over there, in the white shirts with the badges. Those are the guys you need to talk to. I'm...here to watch a baseball game." Hutch said, then shifted the boxes of Cola in his arms and started toward the archway.

He'd made it down the first flight of stairs before Starsky had glanced up from their seats near the third base line. The brunet had jumped from the seats and was trotting up the stairs, when Hutch recognized the felt-tipped wing jabbing him in the back again.

Hutch shook his head and kept descending, feeling the bottom of the boxes soaking away. "Look, kid, those officers are perfectly capable of handling your situation...besides the game's gonna start in an hour, don't you need to...pep up the team or something?"

"There isn't gonna be a team, or an audience, or a game!" The chicken squeaked, barely keeping up with him. The cloth head was flopping as she descended the stairs, clinging to the rails. He heard a frustrated grunt and turned to see the mascot finally rip the cloth head off, fed up with the inconvenience of it.

Starsky's focus had been going between his partner and the tag-along chicken and Hutch caught a look of surprised recognition on his partner's face before Starsky squeaked, "Molly!?"

Then all hell broke loose.

Multiple explosions ripped through the stadium, emanating from the promenade and blowing debris out into the stands through the archways. The heat, the air and the roar caught Hutch, Molly and Starsky and threw them tumbling down the steps and into harsh landings against the seats.

Before he landed ribs first against the back of a stadium chair Starsky remembered seeing the billows of smoke shooting out of each of the archways spaced around the stadium, followed by a rush of people running for safety...into the stadium and not out of it.

Then the chair knocked the breath out of him and he blacked out shortly thereafter.

When he woke again his throat was on fire, the right side of his chest throbbed like he'd run five miles in ten seconds without taking a decent breath, and his head was pulsing. The noise around him slowly bled in past his heart beat. Screams, shouts, the general rush of humanity in full panic mode.

Starsky lifted a hand, stared at the fine white powder that coated it, then latched his fingers onto the back of the seat he'd slumped behind. He made it part of the way upright before the pain visited him with nausea and a wave of breathless darkness, that he had to fight his way back out of.

His eyes were closed, his thoughts focused on breathing without pain when a warm palm brushed against the side of his face, moved back to cradle the back of his head and he faintly heard Hutch's voice. Starsky's hands quickly found the cotton of Hutch's shirt and he groaned, "Help me up.", then held on for the ride.

They sat down together a minute later in the first two seats they could find, at least one flight closer to the field, away from the fires still burning in the promenade. Starsky forced running eyes open, counted the heads of ten boys, plus Kiko several flights below them, then looked to the blond still clinging to him. There was blood on the side of his head, cutting through the white film of dust. Hutch must have gone face first into something because his nose was bloodied and swelling.

Starsky loosened his grip and pushed himself up in the chair, taking the pressure off of bruised...no cracked...possibly broken ribs. Then he looked for the chicken.

"Where's Molly?"

"Molly?" Hutch asked, eyes watering from the pain in his face.

"The chicken. Molly...Pete." Starsky said, waiting for Hutch to get it.

The blond panted for another second or two before it sunk in and he twisted around to stare back up at the mess above them. They both caught sight of the bright yellow chicken body sprawled across the steps. The flood of survivors from the promenade was dwindling, but none of the panicked people were interested in stopping long enough to help the brightly colored mascot.

Starsky started to rise then settled back when a jolt of pain, and his partner's hand forced him to sit still. "I got 'er. Stay here with the kids." Hutch said, then groaned softly and pushed to his feet, climbing over the back of his seat and limping out into the aisle.

He maintained his balance for about two seconds before the first wave of dizziness hit.


	2. Chapter 2

Starsky caught the lean before his partner went down and pushed himself over the back of the seat and into the aisle in time to catch him. Starsky guided Hutch down into one of the seats and held on to his shoulders while Hutch's head swam and his eyes rolled.

"You got a head injury is what you got…" Starsky muttered then, "Why don't _you_ stay here?"

He got a weak, sick groan in response.

Starsky headed up the stairs and knelt by the chicken with a 17-year-old's head and hunted for the buttons or snaps or zipper that would get Molly out of the outfit.

"Pete.."

The voice echoed in her head. It was a voice she hadn't heard in awhile, a voice she had once learned to trust. One of the voices she'd planned on counting on very recently.

"Come on...Pete, need you to open your eyes, sweetheart."

There was a shuffle of cloth and shoes on the concrete, then a grunt and the voice came back.

"Hey Pete, come on. Breathe slow and deep, that's a girl."

She liked that voice. It was the voice of fun, adventure and mischief. And good food, instead of the rotten stuff that Hutch...the other one was Hutch, so this must be Starsky…the nasty stuff Hutch had tried to make her eat more than a few times.

"Starsky?" Molly asked, the 13-year-old he'd once known still recognizable in the 18-year-old Starsky had crouched over. Pained brown eyes opened to slits focusing on the brunet first, then on the distant face of Kiko who was fuming under a veil of concern.

"Mom is gonna be so mad at you." Kiko growled around the tears that were cutting through the white on his face.

Molly winced and closed her eyes and felt Starsky's hand going behind her head.

"Kiko, give me your jacket, huh?" The cop said softly, then Molly heard the rustle of cloth and felt the jacket, smelling of her adoptive brother's cologne, pillowing her head.

"Can you tell me what hurts?" Starsky asked, his hands running down the girl's arms and legs, figuring where there was purple there might be broken bones. After removing the mascot outfit that had cushioned most of her fall, he'd not only found bruises but very little in the way of clothing.

"Everything hurts." Molly groaned, opening her eyes again to find her brother still there, arms crossed over his chest, wiping at his tears.

"You're supposed to be at your summer job. At the library. What are you doing here?" Kiko demanded.

Molly made a face and didn't answer, getting a groan out of Kiko who stomped away a few steps.

"I don't think anything's broken. Think you can sit up?" Starsky asked.

Molly nodded and was pulled forward. Her head rocked a little, protesting the shift in her center of gravity, but the bruises on her back hurt less once she was upright. She was also colder without the shelter of the chicken outfit, and began to shiver. She wrapped one slender hand around the support strut of the banister and held on until the world stopped spinning.

Starsky laid Kiko's jacket over her back before she felt her brother's hands resting on her shoulders, waiting for her to get her bearings. Then Kiko and Starsky got her to her feet and walked her down toward the group of shaken ten- and eleven-year-old boys. Kiko helped her into a seat then sat on the aisle side of her, his still-steamed presence enough to keep her from going anywhere.

Molly kept her mouth shut and closed her eyes, resting.

The other boys were okay, if dust covered and frightened.

But a few flights up, Hutch's face was a mess of blood, his nose still bleeding. Hutch had found a cloth and pressed it over his nose, his head hanging, eyes closed tight.

Starsky braced his ribs and slowly lowered himself to the step by Hutch's chair. His muscles pulled, the area around the bruise tight and hot, but nothing shifted. Blue eyes waited for Hutch's to open before Starsky said, "Your nose looks funny."

"Yeah? Do you think that's because it's broken, maybe?" Hutch grunted, his voice filtered through the swelling clogging his nostrils.

"Maybe….maybe it's your face that's broken and your nose is ok."

Hutch gave his partner a glare over the blood soaked cloth. The position he was in made his face throb but it was the only way to get the bleeding to stop. He needed a moment. Just some time to get the pain under control, the blood to stop threatening to choke him, to get his heart rate lowered, to get some idea of what in hell was going on.

"Molly okay?"

Starsky was feeling out the extent of the damage to his side, avoiding the parts that hurt the most. "She hit her head. Don't think anything's broken. Kiko's ready to lay into her."

"She's supposed to be working at the library for the summer." Hutch said, pulling the cloth away, and finding an unstained side to press to his nose.

"That's what Kiko said."

Around them the other people in the stadium were doing the same things they had done. Checking on the family members or group members they had come with, gathering around the injured, staring stunned at the damage.

Every few minutes someone covered in dust and blood would stagger out of one of the twenty archways leading to the promenade.

"What the hell happened, Starsk?"

"Something exploded."

Hutch groaned, and Starsky gave him an apologetic look. "I dunno. There was a puff of flame and smoke from the archway and then we all went flying. It looked like the same thing happened all around the stadium."

"That can't have been an accident." Hutch said, then raised his head and groaned. The pain in his head had shifted, but not lessened in anyway, and his eyes were still watering.

"You don't think this is our fault do ya?" Starsky asked, giving his partner a sympathetic look that he didn't catch.

"I think that would qualify as overkill, Starsk." Hutch said, then actually thought about the question. He sighed, winced at the pain that air moving through his windpipe had caused and said, "I really hope not."

"Maybe it was a gas main. All those food kiosks have to use something for fuel."

Hutch stared blearily across the stadium. A sort of order was beginning to be established. In the pressbox across the way he could make out faint figures trying to get the announcement system operational. On the field a group of security personnel that had survived the blast were setting up a triage area. Other non-uniformed people were joining them, taking direction from pointed fingers, nodding professionally and Hutch began to remember who made up the majority of people in the stadium that day.

Cops. Firemen. Officers of the court. Probation officers. EMTs. The working people of the infrastructure of the city, a great majority of them gathered together for a single day of appreciation.

It was to their benefit for the moment.

It would be to the great detriment of the city if there were more explosions, or if any part of the stadium should collapse.

"Maybe…." Hutch said, distracted by the disturbing new train of thought.

Then Hutch remembered the pressure of Molly's fingers on his arm before he'd left the promenade.

"Maybe Molly knows something."

"Huh?"

"Molly _knows_ something. She was trying to tell me something up there." Hutch leaned forward far enough to grab the back of the seat in front of him then tried to pull himself onto his feet. His head swam, the pain rushing back in and overwhelming his other senses. He felt Starsky guiding him back into the seat and slumped, panting.

"Sit still will ya, I'll talk to her." Starsky grunted, getting to his feet. He was still favoring his right side, but there was less pain this time.

Each of the ten boys looked up at Starsky, managing to peel their eyes away from the spectacle happening around them, and Starsky gave them each a smile or a nod of reassurance. He got a few high-fives from the ones that still looked shaken, scuffed his hand through Jimmy's hair then looked to Kiko and Pete, perching on the back of the seat a step below them.

Molly was shivering, her hands hidden under the folds of her brother's jacket, pulled tightly around her.

"Hey Pete, how's your head?"

"Hurts." Molly said, giving a piteous sniffle that Starsky knew to be at least partially for show. He smirked a little. He'd missed the feisty girl over the past few years, but work and life had kept him from visiting.

"Think you can talk for a bit?"

Molly didn't respond, but she was fully focused on the brunet.

"You wanna tell me what you were goin' to tell Hutch earlier?" Starsky caught the evasive look that he knew well. It was the look that said that Molly had figured out talking would get her into more trouble than it would get her out of.

"It doesn't matter now." Molly said, with a hint of attitude.

"I think it does." Starsky said, glancing to Hutch who was trying to get to his feet again. "Did you know about the explosions?"

Molly shook her head then looked away.

"Did you know something bad was going to happen?" Starsky pressed, trying to be gentle, but beginning to slip into the cop he became during interrogations. There was a reason neither he, nor Hutch, interviewed children. Speaking of, the blond had made it to his feet and was trying his hand at walking.

Molly pressed her lips together, then shifted her attention to Hutch as he grunted, making it most of the way to where Molly and Starsky were before Starsky eased him down onto a step. He'd cleaned most of the blood from his face, but his nose was swelling and black circles were forming under his eyes.

"Molly...if you know something, you have to tell us. It's important." Hutch said, panting with his mouth open, unable to breathe through his nose.

"You weren't going to listen to me. You said I should talk to the security guys. Well, they're probably all dead now." Molly bit out, her face squeezing into a grimace that emitted tears a second later.

Hutch sighed and leaned his throbbing head against the ever present banister, unable to think beyond the pounding. The headache he'd had before the explosion was now twenty times greater and he felt like his head was going to burst.

Molly's obstinate guilt trip wasn't helping anything.

"Molly...if these explosions were intentional there could be more danger. Danger that we could prevent. Will you just tell us what you know?" Starsky pressed, irritated.

"I don't know anything. I just...I just heard some things. I didn't think they were real you know. I didn't think...but then I saw you and Hutch and...I had to tell you but Kiko couldn't find out cause I'm…" Starsky barely heard the last of it but it sounded like, "...not supposed to be here."

The brunet sighed then looked to his partner. Hutch had gone silent on the step, and his face was a mask of complete concentration, his jaw tight, the vein in his forehead pulsing. There was likely to be ice somewhere and that would numb some of the pain and reduce the swelling, but beyond that Starsky wasn't about to start setting bones. In the meantime there were people worse off than they, and authority figures that one of them should check in with.

They couldn't sit where they were indefinitely, the stadium seats probably weren't the safest place to stay.

If there was a way to get the boys out of the stadium it was probably from the field. Their first responsibility was to see them to safety. Starsky braced his side and twisted, glancing over his shoulder at the trickle of 'volunteers' working their way into the stands.

"Pete, everything you saw and everything you heard...you tell us right now, and you won't get in trouble. But if you say nothing and something else happens, and more people get hurt. You're going to be held responsible. Hear me?" Starsky insisted, letting his voice harden.

Molly's eyes had widened and she looked to Kiko for confirmation, before sinking deeper into the jacket and sniffling. Real tears were streaming down her face, her eyes scrunching against the renewed throb of a headache.

"I was down in the locker room. They gave me a locker to put the chicken in and a special place to change and I was changing. And they didn't see me."

"Who didn't see you?"

"I don't know. I swear I don't know. I heard them through the vent."

"The vent? Where does the vent lead to?"

"I don't know! I've only been in the locker rooms and on the field!" Molly was crying intensely now, her voice rising in volume and pitch.

Starsky put a hand on her shoulder, gently and took a deep breath. "It's ok, it's ok. Just calm down. Tell me what they said."

"They were gonna "level the playing field"." Molly said, real pain entering her eyes, as if she'd only begun to realize the intent behind the statement.

"Did they say how?"

Molly shook her head.

"Did...did they say when? Or why?"

"Starsk…"

Molly was shaking her head more violently, then stopped to cradle her skull, groaning and turning her face into her brother's shoulder.

Starsky floundered for another way to ask the same question then looked to Hutch.

"Get the kids out. We'll figure out the rest later." Hutch said, his voice strained.

The blond looked tired. Wiped out by the pain he was in. The rate at which Hutch was falling apart was fueling Starsky's temper, but laying into Molly wasn't helping.

"Kiko, do you think you can get your sister down to the field?"

As Kiko nodded Starsky got to his feet once more and moved down the seat row to the collection of boys, speaking quietly and calmly. They were soon on their feet, following Kiko and Molly in a slow parade down the steps and into the sunlight filtering through the still dissipating cloud of dust and smoke.

"Come on, partner." Starsky muttered to Hutch last, getting the blond to his feet in increments, before he pulled Hutch's arm over his shoulder.

The boys were on the field in seconds, Kiko and Molly directing them toward the exit that some of the wounded were being walked towards. They were, Starsky hoped, well on their way to leaving the stadium by the time he and Hutch reached the turf.

The splash of heavy duty glass breaking was the only warning before machine gun fire ripped through the stadium. It came from the pressbox, three or four shooters, spraying the field and the stadium liberally. Starsky went from a shocked standstill to dragging Hutch toward the home team dugout, and threw himself back first into the pit, pulling Hutch in after him.

Starsky hit hard, managed to keep his head from hitting anything, felt Hutch land bonelessly against his chest, then pressed both their bodies against the base of the outside wall. Seconds later bullets skipped across the concrete above them, then moved on. There was screaming, heart wrenching cries that were all too familiar to Starsky, then a brief quiet.

Starsky waited, expecting Hutch to protest being squished against the concrete but his partner didn't move. Starsky rolled on his back and watched Hutch's head rising and falling with the surface of the brunet's chest.

"Hutch?" Starsky felt for a pulse, then put his hand a centimeter from Hutch's lips and felt breath coming out. Unconscious, still breathing. Still alive. Starsky pulled his partner's head closer to his own, heard rapid footsteps approaching and tried to curl in around the wounded man.

A few more bodies jumped into the pit a second later, one of them a uniformed guard with blood down one sleeve, another a woman in jeans and a t-shirt, her face bathed with concrete dust and sweat.

Starsky pushed himself up onto his elbows, grimacing at the sharp jab in his side. With the added weight of Hutch's body on top of him, getting upright was a struggle and he felt the uninjured woman's hands supporting his back until he could lean a shoulder against the low concrete wall that separated the dugout from the field.

Starsky scanned his partner's body, his head nearly even with the blond's, and made sure there were no new holes. His ears were open, desperately waiting for the second burst of machine gun fire. The first had lasted about as long as a clip might if fired in one continuous burst. The assailants behind the guns had had enough time to reload. Instinct, born of time in-country, told Starsky this wasn't the end. By now the badguy's targets had scattered, but if Molly's retelling was remotely accurate, they were prepared to wait.

Starsky panted as it occurred to him, another explosion at ground level could be the final devastating act...trapping the people escaping through the tunnels and potentially causing a catastrophic collapse.

A collapse would also trap the people in the press box.

Starsky had to hope that the men behind the first explosion had a strong sense of self-preservation, and that they and the guys with guns were on the same side. Otherwise, if Starsky's depressing train of thought came true, the good guys were effectively out of luck.

"What do you think they're waiting for?" The security guard asked, breaking the breath filled silence.

"Somebody to pop their head up. There were still way too many people in those stands." The woman said, crouched against the concrete wall. She looked like she was ready to stand at any moment and Starsky grabbed her sleeve.

"By now they've reloaded. Let's not give them an easy target, huh?"

"Who are you?" The woman asked, and for a reason Starsky couldn't figure, he hesitated.

"I'm Dave. This is Ken."

"Dave, Ken…" The woman said. "I'm Barbara. You were with those kids, the big group."

"Yeah...part of the Big Brother's organization."

Barbara nodded, putting the pieces together, then listening again. Even before the shooting had begun the stadium had been filled with a hum of quiet conversations pierced every once in awhile by a shout or a scream. Now it was dead silent.

Hutch started to come around a second later, his head rolling against Starsky's shoulder, pained moans coming from his lips. Starsky spotted a stack of towels in the corner of the dugout near the security officer and a water cooler a few feet away.

"Hey...what's your name?"

"Tom, Tom Vallery."

"Tom...you think you can get one of those towels wet and toss it to me?"

The security guy's head tilted up, checking the field. Starsky assumed he was deciding whether or not he was an easy target for the press box if he shifted further back into the dugout. Starsky felt himself sigh in relief when Tom decided it was worth the risk.

A few seconds later he had the cold wet towel bathing Hutch's face, quieting some of the moans.

"Well what are we going to do, just sit here?" Barbara demanded.

Starsky looked up. "Where he goes, I go. And he's not gettin' very far."

"Sta-"

"It's okay. You're okay, just lay there and shut up."

Starsky got funny looks from the lady and the guard and ignored them, gently cleaning the blood from his partner's face.

"There's a door back here. It leads back into the locker rooms, and there's another door from there into the complex but we'd be pretty exposed getting to it." Tom said, his eyes bouncing between the other two conscious people stuck with him.

They were quiet for a moment before Barbara suddenly went into convulsions. Or so it seemed. A second later Starsky realized she was looking for something. She'd patted her chest then her pockets before she started to try to look over the concrete wall. Starsky yanked her down again.

"My camera!"

"Oh god…" Starsky moaned. "You're a reporter aren't you?"

The look Barbara gave him was a mix of pride and suspicion. "Yeah, how'd you know?"

"I'll tell you later. When and if we get outta this alive." Starsky muttered.

"I'd have pegged the two of you as cops, but I've never seen cops dress so…"

Starsky glanced down at his dust covered clothing, some of it torn from flying across the stadium, then he shook his head. "Lady...you're not helping. You wanna be a fashion critic, you're in the wrong place."

Barbara threw up her hands and Tom sighed from his corner. The arena was still quiet, but a low keening sound had started. It sounded like someone in pain, and Starsky immediately recognized what that meant. It sent a chill down his spine and reminded him of long, pitch black nights, sodden through and waiting. Waiting outside a prison on the wrong side of a border, listening to fellow Americans a hundred yards away, moaning. Knowing there was nothing he could do about it.

It had been the thing of nightmares then.

They all jumped when they heard the second set of shots. Single bursts that silenced the moaning. The guns were closer. They weren't echoing from the press box, they were on the field.

"We gotta move." Starsky said, whispering it, and forcing his partner into a sitting position.

Tom was on his feet and Barbara getting there, trying to stoop and offer a hand. Starsky waved her off.

"Go, just go!" He whispered hard, then grit his teeth, got his hands under Hutch's armpits and used every muscle in his body to get him and his partner to their feet.

Barbara was through the door, Tom waiting for the two cops before they heard the voice say,

"Hold it."

Tom was pale and looked like he was going to puke. Starsky felt the warm muzzle of a recently fired gun press against his neck.

"Three of you, outta there." The voice said, the accent muddied by cloth covering the man's mouth.

The push had brought Hutch out of his stupor and Starsky wrapped his left arm completely around Hutch's chest as the blond muttered, "What's going on?"

"We're in a lot of trouble." Starsky said, then took a deep breath and turned to face the masked man.


	3. Chapter 3

They used the stairs this time, Hutch taking on more of his own weight. The blond was groggy and in pain but a little more coherent.

"Come on, partner, left foot, right foot."

"Givin' me marchin' orders now?" Hutch muttered, then groaned as his right foot caught on the step, jarring his head.

"I'm the one with the experience." Starsky returned, keeping his voice low. Tom came up behind them, bracing Hutch's free arm. Once they were free of the stairs the man who had spoken ordered another of the dozen spread across the field to get "the girl". The second gunman, wearing an identical ski mask, headed down the stairs and into the darkened recesses of the stadium.

'Run, Barbara,' Starsky thought. 'And don't look back.' A second later he spotted her camera, ten feet from the dugout. Intact.

The first gunman caught his glance, noticed the camera and picked it up. "This yours?"

"Yeah it's mine." Starsky said, without hesitation, feeling Hutch settle a little more of his weight on his own feet.

To his shock the gunman handed Starsky the camera then motioned for them to move toward the center of the field where the survivors were being collected. The group consisted of the walking wounded, uninjured, and those that had friends to help them. Those that couldn't move, that had been moaning weakly before, had been executed. It felt...sickly familiar.

Hutch, eyes open to slits, caught sight of a few mangled bodies, the damage that execution style shots had done to faces, then looked away feeling his stomach roll. "We're in trouble." He muttered, and felt Starsky's hand tighten on his rib cage.

"We're reporters. You're the writer and I'm the photographer." Starsky said without preamble, and he felt Hutch's fingers tighten on his own. Then Hutch started patting his pockets. "What're you lookin' for?"

"I'm a writer?" Hutch sighed, his face tightening briefly against the pain that was visiting him in waves.

"You're good with words, Hutch."

"Apparently I never...actually write them down." Hutch said, giving up his search.

"We'll figure something out." Starsky said, then gritted his teeth pulling their lurching progress to a halt.

"How's your side?"

"Sore. You weigh a ton."

"Sure...kick a man while he's down." Hutch managed, then swallowed hard against a jump in his stomach and lifted his head.

"On the turf." The order came from behind them, directed vaguely at anyone still standing.

Starsky tried to start the sitting process but Hutch fought him.

"Hang on, Starsk. Hang on."

"They got guns on us. Seems we should do what they tell us."

"Sit down!" The voice said again, louder and closer. A second later a boot connected with Hutch's bruise-weakened knee and his grip on Starsky's shoulder became painful. This time there wasn't much choice. Hutch went down and Starsky with him, cradling the blond's head until it was laying against the turf. Then Starsky, under the aim of the gun, launched up and into the stomach of the guy that had kicked his partner.

It was stupid, but he had the feeling it was what Hutch had been hesitating for. Testing the solidarity of the group. Testing their training, testing their reactions to one of their own being under attack. Starsky got the gun clamped under his right arm pit and was laying into the man's torso with his left fist. He'd pushed the gunman back about twenty feet before one of the others stepped in. The butt of a gun hit his ribs, once, twice, then Starsky felt a bolt of pain that he couldn't ignore and he went down.

There was no follow up beating. Once the gunman could pull his weapon free he was left to his own devices. None of his buddies went to check on him. The gunman that had hit Starsky stood over him until the brunet could breathe again, and get himself to his hands and knees. Then he was ordered to;

"Get up. Get back to the group. Try it again and the city news is minus a photographer."

Getting up was harder this time. The gun had done more damage than the stadium seat had. The gunman grabbed his elbow and dragged him up, let go of Starsky once he was stable on his feet then gave him a little push. Starsky limped the rest of the way, bracing his rib cage, breathing shallow.

He sank to his knees once he reached his partner then carefully rolled onto his back, sweat bathing his face, working on controlling the muscle spasms of lungs desperately demanding air. The gunman stood over him long enough to reassure himself that Starsky was going to stay down, then walked away.

"That was really dumb." Tom said from where he sat eyeing the two injured men. "What the hell was attacking one guy gonna prove?"

Starsky rolled his head to the side, found his partner a few feet away sitting cross-legged with his head hanging in his hands. He caught a glint of blue between fingers and knew his partner had caught on to the same things he had.

"Proved he was dumb enough to do it." Hutch's voice was barely above a whisper. "Only a hot-headed reporter would do something so dumb."

"These guys might be mercenaries, paramilitary…" Starsky had to pant for a minute, catching his breath before he could whisper again. "They don't care enough about each other to help their pal without being ordered to...or take it out on me after."

Hutch parted his fingers and glanced up, then winced at the pain that just moving his eyes gave him. "They're wearing masks. Some of us are meant to survive this."

Tom's eyes were bouncing back and forth between the two men, his jaw hanging a little slack. He started to nod, knowingly, "Thought the two of you seemed familiar. You guys are-"

"Reporters." Starsky said, cutting him off. "You probably seen us on the news. We get a lot of screen time." The brunet rolled onto his good side, sending a warning look to Tom that slowly closed the guard's mouth.

"Reporters." Tom said, losing some of the drive he'd had in his eyes a moment before. "Yeah...that's gotta be it."

Starsky scanned the part of the field and stadium that he could see without twisting. The masked men had spanned out into the seats and along the perimeter. There hadn't been anymore shots, but they were plucking people up from behind rows of seats, dragging them down the steps, gathering them in the center of the field.

A second later he saw a face he was hoping not to see and quietly said, "Hey partner…"

Hutch glanced up, tried to focus his eyes on the face floating under a tangle of dark black hair, then groaned. They'd found Kiko.

"Maybe that's a good thing." Hutch said.

"Maybe…" Starsky agreed, his voice distracted. Maybe Pete and the other boys had made it out. Maybe the police were outside containing the situation even now. Maybe the marines were going to float in on helicopters. There were whole lot of hopeful maybes out there. Very few of them grounded in reality.

"Get a count yet?" Hutch asked.

Starsky glanced over, caught the pale skin against deep bruises as Hutch's hands fell from his face and winced in sympathy. "Twenty-seven so far. Probably some still in the pressbox, and down in the tunnels. This was planned...this was...very well planned."

"Yeah." Hutch said, his voice reflecting just how depressing that thought was. "Leveling the playing field. But why...what's coming down that's so big they needed to wipe out half the infrastructure of-"

A burst of gunfire cut Hutch off and the group of mostly black clad, masked men started to reform on the field, dragging the last of their charges with them. There were a few shrieks then dead silence, broken a second later by the squeal of the announcement system coming to life.

"One of you attacked one of my men." The voice cut off and the last of his words echoed through the silent stadium. "There will be no more attacks, and that man will be the example for the consequences." The voice spoke with a hint of a British accent, his tone clipped and unemotional. Seconds later Starsky was dragged to his feet by two men and the beating began.

There was no preparation or time taken to instill terror. Just fists against flesh until Starsky couldn't breathe beyond the pain. They'd concentrated at first on his right side, then gone after his face busting open a cut over his left eye.

Starsky vaguely remembered hearing Hutch protest before a punch landed under his ear and all he could hear was ringing. He'd bitten the inside of his cheek and was choking on his own blood by the time they dumped him next to his partner. He thought he felt Hutch's hands pulling him closer, felt the panic of blood pooling at the back of his throat and was turned toward the turf in time to retch.

"If one of you attacks one of my men, you'll receive the same. If any of my men should die, two of you will die. We have a goal. If you cooperate and we achieve that goal, you will live. You'll be given water once every hour, and food in four hours. Any fighting amongst yourselves will immediately result in death. I suggest you learn to play nicely." The voice said, then the speakers squealed and the announcement system went dead.

"Looks like we're in for the long haul." Tom said, his face involuntarily wincing in sympathy at the pained breaths the "reporter" was dragging into his lungs.

The mix of blood and saliva that Starsky had left on the turf wasn't much, and his stomach had calmed a little, but Hutch held him on his side, trying to think past the headache and the rage.

"Di-...didn't...see that coming." The brunet managed, taking each breath like it was a hard won prize.

"We really are in trouble.." Hutch pushed through gritted teeth, burying the fingers of one hand in the mat of curls and cradling his partner's head until he felt the muscles in the brunet's neck relax.

* * *

Molly had done her best to scare the pants off each of the boys as she stuffed them into lockers, telling them she'd kill them personally if they so much as made a squeak. Kiko had done something similar, using fewer threats and more big brother-like assurances. Molly had managed to close her locker door before the guy with the gun had come in. She'd been the most likely to give away their location when she watched the gunman put the gun to Kiko's head.

For a terrified second she was back in that alley of her youth, staring at her dead father's face against the white of a pillow and sheets, watching her whole life change in a span of seconds. Every muscle in her body tried to shut down in one instant, refusing to watch someone she loved die again. But the gunman had simply pushed her brother out of the locker room. For a long time she waited for the guy with the mask to come back.

When he didn't, and they heard the burst of gunfire and the man over the announcement system, Molly pushed her hand against the door and winced as it squeaked open. Nothing happened. None of the boys moved. No masked men burst from the dark corners of the locker room. Molly wiped at the tears and sweat bathing her face and went to the door that lead into the hallway.

She could see daylight at one end coming from the stadium field where the voices and the gunfire originated. And darkness at the other. The wide tunnel would lead down, then up again toward the laundry room, the security office and the back entrance. There was a gated parking lot back there, housing about a hundred cars, including the old sedan that she was allowed to drive for her summer job, but only on Saturdays and Sundays.

It was Kiko's involvement in today's festivities that meant she drove it on a weekday. Festivities that had turned into a killing spree. Molly tightened her brother's jacket around her shoulders then checked both ends of the hallway again before she took off at a sprint toward the bend in the tunnel.

Her skinny legs flew, she hoped soundlessly, until she had passed the wide archway that smelled of laundry soap and mildew. She was nearly to the security door when she heard a sound behind her, and backtracked, throwing herself into the first pile of laundry she could find.

A second later she felt hands on her head and shoulders, fingers digging into her arms, trying to drag her out of the pile. Molly fought desperately, keeping her mouth shut, silent squeaks of terror escaping her as her throat threatened to close. Then she realized that the hands had painted fingernails. They weren't covered in black cloth, but bare to the biceps. It was a woman dragging her out of the pile, not a man with a gun.

Molly stilled and stared wide-eyed at the lady reporter she'd bumped into more than once that morning. The lady had tried several times to get an interview with the chicken. Molly had allowed her a picture but refused to let anything get into the paper that would get her in trouble with her adoptive mom and brother. Not with the first step to her dream job hanging on the line.

"Who are you?" The lady asked, in a whisper, looking Molly over like the scrawny weed that she was.

Molly ripped her arm out of the woman's grasp and closed her face. "Who are you?" She demanded rubbing at the nail marks before she pushed out of the laundry and scrambled to the door.

"My name's Barbara."

"Nice to know ya, Babs." Molly retorted then slipped out of the laundry room and headed back down to the locker room. Barbara followed walking too heavy and breathing too hard. Molly groaned softly, but focused on her goal, opening each of the lockers and letting out the ten wide-eyed boys hidden in the small room.

Barbara stood in the doorway, staring in surprise as the room filled with juveniles.

"Pretty smart." She said, in what she had probably thought was a whisper. Molly read her as a performer, someone used to drawing attention to herself and getting ahead that way. It was precisely the sort of person she didn't want around. Molly turned her back on the woman and gathered the boys around.

"Listen, you remember Kiko saying that he was in charge for a bit?"

Each of the boys nodded, some of them distracted by the woman in the doorway, but most of them desperately tuned in to what Molly was saying.

"Well, I'm Kiko's sister, and since he's gone...doing...doing other things. I'm in charge. Ok?"

Molly got a couple of squirrelly looks but most of the boys nodded willingly. "Ok. There's a laundry room up this way. We're gonna hide out there for a little bit. But we gotta run there, and we got be really quiet about it. Right?"

Some of the boys whispered agreement, others just nodded. When Molly turned to lead the way into the tunnel Barbara had disappeared. Good riddance, Molly thought, and checked the tunnel before she stepped out into the open and waved the boys around her.

Only a blind man with no sense of smell could miss the laundry room, so she hung back until the last boy was gone, then followed them up and into the bigger room. They all stood in the center of the place staring around them like pigeons.

"Find places to hide, dummies." She whispered harshly then went to the archway to listen. One thing she could count on was a pack of 10- and 11-year-olds knowing how to play hide-and-seek. The room cleared in minutes and Molly stood just inside the archway listening.

She heard Barbara's voice again and winced at how loud the woman was being. She was talking to someone a mile a minute and the sound was echoing louder than the gunshots had been. Seconds later Molly realized why and dove behind a giant washing machine in time to avoid being seen. She caught the flash of Barbara and one of the gunmen passing by the archway, then three more with guns who stepped a few feet into the laundry room, looking around.

Don't move, Molly thought. Don't talk. Don't even breathe! She waited, praying the boys would stay still like they had in the locker room.

A voice called the three from down the tunnel and they reluctantly left, one by one. She heard Barbara shriek before they left the tunnel and Molly covered her mouth with her hand, squeezing her eyes shut tight and praying that the next sound she heard wouldn't be the lady reporter screaming right before they shot her. There was a rushing river of crazy running under the scrap of sanity that Molly was clinging to. It wouldn't take much to let go.

There was no shot, though, and no scream. Molly wiped her tears again and stayed still long enough for her legs to start to cramp, then she moved out from behind the washer and peered into the tunnel, moving into the archway by inches.

The tunnel was clear, but the guys that had taken Babs had come from the parking lot. There could be more out there. Molly thought of the stadium like it was a prison. Her long dead father had told her a little about prison. Anyplace that looked like a good escape path had a guard in it. But having a guard in the way of a path of escape required that the guards knew where all the prisoners were.

Maybe the guards didn't know that 11 of their prisoners were missing. Molly stepped out into the tunnel, breathing so hard she thought for sure she sounded like a bellows. She moved at a snail's pace, keeping her back against the wall until she had covered enough ground that the safety of laundry room would require a lot of luck, and a quick dash, to reach. Then she was opposite the door of the security room. The light was on inside and she could see that it was empty. The radio set the guards used to communicate had been smashed, the phone ripped away from the wall.

There was a splatter of blood on the window and Molly decided quickly she wasn't going to go in there. Not for all the tea in China.

She kept going until she felt the hot breeze coming from the parking lot. The doors that stayed open when the stadium was occupied were resting flush with the walls, still secured the way the custodian had set them earlier that morning. The parking lot was full of cars and empty of people. Molly tried to remember what she had done with her keys, then remembered what a short lived boyfriend had taught her about hot wiring and decided it didn't matter. She didn't see any guys in black with guns. Maybe there were some, high up on the wall, but there were none watching the parking lot.

If she stayed low and quiet she could get out right now. Hotwire a car and bust through the gates. Maybe get help. Maybe just run and keep running.

She thought about Starsky and Hutch. They'd both been hurt, Hutch had looked like death warmed over. Yet they'd been focused on her, and Kiko, and the boys. It was a betrayal to the two men that had as much as saved her more than once to leave without trying to get the boys out. A betrayal that she slowly, stupidly, decided she couldn't live with.

It would take more doing. It would probably get them all caught and killed, but Molly felt two much-older voices in her head reminding her about the people that loved her. People that wanted to be proud of her. She turned back to the laundry room. She was a little braver this time covering the distance.

Her heart was racing but the tunnel had been quiet for so long she felt confident. She gathered the boys in the laundry room and told them the truth.

"We're probably gonna get shot." She said, watched half of them pale and rolled her eyes. Okay so maybe she should work on that "tacked" thing the ladies at the grammar school had given up trying to teach her. "It's really dangerous, ok? We gotta run up the tunnel, and stay real low out in the parking lot. Until I can jack a car."

"You're gonna steal a car?" One of the boys demanded, throwing his arms together across his chest.

"That's against the law, Molly!" Another one accused his voice squeaking instead of the whisper he was shooting for.

Molly rolled her eyes again. "And blowing up a baseball stadium, and shooting a buncha people isn't? Come on, guys. We're gonna save the day. Who cares if we break a little law while we're doing it. Your choices are come with me and keep your mouths shut, or stay here and hope the bad guys don't want to clean their undies while they're here."

The image of the scary men in masks spending their time doing something so mundane and ordinary as washing underwear got a few smiles and giggles out of the boys, and won at least half of them over instantly. The other half were completely unsure, and therefore willing to follow anyone doing anything that felt like not waiting in fear.

"Ok." Molly said, taking in a breath that felt like her last. This was stupid, she reminded herself, and she would not become the baseball player/manager/announcer she'd dreamed of being, while continuously pulling stupid stunts like this one. "Absolute silence. Follow me."

Then Molly repeated the egress from the locker room, pushing the boys ahead of her and bringing up the rear.


	4. Chapter 4

The group inside the stadium had grown restlessly quiet.

The cloth that Starsky had used to clean Hutch's face had been slung over the blond's shoulder and had stayed there, wet cotton clinging to Hutch's shirt. Hutch used what remained clean of the cloth to get under the blood on Starsky's face and gauge the damage. Every touch of the towel caused his partner to flinch, especially the deepening bruise under his ear. A trickle of blood had escaped from the same ear but Starsky responded to Hutch snapping his fingers a few inches away.

Starsky's breaths were ragged, congested, but that could've been from the blood from his cheek or the damage to his side. The bruising against his ribs had spread. Time would tell how far it would go, how bad the damage was. The few words Hutch had gotten out of his partner were veiled requests to be left alone, and Hutch's head finally began to pound so bad he didn't have a choice.

Hutch lay down and Starsky squirmed weakly until his head was propped against his partner's thigh. The group around them was settling in for the hour wait before the promised waterbreak. Quiet shielded conversations started and ended quickly once any of the speakers noticed masked eyes pointed their way.

Tom had edged toward the wounded pair in the interim, followed closely by Kiko and Barbara.

It'd taken the dark haired youth a few minutes to find Starsky and Hutch. Watching Starsky's beating had struck Kiko silent and terrified, remembering half-forgotten parts of his 'd felt shame after, and had thought about staying hidden in the crowd.

When both men were forced to lay down because of their injuries, Kiko's need to protect his mentors overwhelmed his shame. Kiko found a way to sit in the 90 degree angle where Starsky's head met Hutch's leg. It was strange to have both men be so still. So silent.

They were always full of energy and movement, wisecracks and jokes. The two shells, pale with pain, weren't Starsky and Hutch.

Starsky was the first to notice the dark-haired kid and he rolled his head painfully to the side, his voice cracking as he said, "Hey Kiko…"

"Hey." Kiko said, his voice filled with the sorrow and fear and uncertainty that had built in him in just the past ten minutes. "I'm sorry I didn't stop it."

"No…" Starsky tried to shake his head, but didn't get much farther than rolling his head a few inches. "No...s'better this way." The brunet's hand rose, palm up, fingers stretched. Kiko took the hand and felt a powerful grip squeezing his before Starsky grunted and let him go. "Stay outta trouble."

Kiko's gaze shifted from Starsky to Hutch, and he blinked, surprised to see Hutch focused on him. "S'good advice." Hutch said.

Kiko nodded, drew in a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sniffle, then looked away from both men.

He missed the smirk on Hutch's face, the soft smile that almost made it to Starsky's lips, but they were expressions that were meant to be have been missed. Some day...when Kiko was older perhaps…

Hutch had almost passed out and Starsky was finally breathing evenly when they heard the roar of a car engine, the squeal of tires, then the crash and crunch of a car driven recklessly through a parking lot and out of locked metal gates. The quiet tension broke into barely controlled chaos, and the order went out instantly. A dozen men ran for the tunnel that led to the locker rooms. The same tunnel they had dragged Barbara out of 10 minutes before.

From the other side of Tom, Starsky heard Barbara giggle softly in triumph, then drop the smile when she realized she had an audience. They waited, listening to the fade of the car engine, a series of shots that were aborted quickly. Then silence. A long, terrible breathless silence.

Then a sight that none of them wanted to see. Two of the black clad men entered the stadium dragging the bloodied body of a third. They dropped him just inside the fan of turf, each of the dozen gunmen staring up at the pressbox.

The sound system squeaked.

"Is he alive?"

Hutch raised his head and squinted, feeling his heart sink as both the men that had carried the body shook their heads.

"Very well." The voice said, then the sound system shut off. There was no need for the order to be given. The men knew what to do. They lowered their guns and walked in two columns of six toward the crowd of people scrambling to put distance between themselves and certain death. The only two that couldn't, became the target of the men with guns.

Other than Kiko, Barbara was the first to make a move towards the two cops, instead of away. Maybe she hadn't heard the ultimatum from the man on the intercom. Maybe she was choosing to ignore it. Maybe she had begun to see herself as the heroine in the story. Brave, intrepid female reporter defends helpless men. Full story at 11. Think of the endorsements.

Tom watched it happen and berated himself for what he was thinking. He'd only been on the job a year. It wasn't the best job in the world, nor the best pay. He didn't owe any of these people anything, least of all his life. Why should he stand up for a bunch jokers that he was pretty sure were cops, but were hiding behind the flimsy aliases of reporters. Regardless of who they really were, they'd managed to make instant targets of themselves.

The wise thing to do would be to stay away. Let the weak get culled from the herd. It was nature's way. Who was he to argue with nature? And yet...Tom found himself moving toward the blond guy that the Kiko-kid was struggling to get upright, even as Barbara moved to the brunet. What were their names again? Ken and...Dave? Did it matter?

Ken was trying to get his friend up and finally managed it with Barbara on the other side. The blond then tugged at Kiko, and tried to situate himself in front of his buddies but a weak protest from Dave, and Tom and Kiko dragging the blond backward, ended that little sacrifice. They rejoined the group of hostages that was tightening in on itself, and the men with guns slowed their pace, gradually surrounding the large circle of potential victims. Tom and Kiko followed Barbara's voice blindly. Backing beyond the edge of the crowd and into the thick of it. Barbara kept saying, "Come on, come on. Little more." The people parted then closed around them again and before long the four of them were in the center of the crowd.

It wouldn't take much for the guys with guns to breach the circle, of course. The crowd they were in was moving like sheep, herded by thirty sheep dogs that could force the fuzzy gits into fancy shapes if they wanted to. Why the hell was Tom making himself a target again?

The blond was reaching for his buddy, pulling the the barely upright brunet against his side, keeping the both of them on their feet with Tom, Kiko and Barbara shielding the pair on three sides. The men with guns had stopped on the edge of the circle, waiting.

Tom scanned each of their...well...masks, trying to discern who was in charge, and how the group of 30 guys could even tell who was who. An older couple on the outer edge, older maybe because of the gray in their hair but easily the well-kept athletic type, had began to speak to the gunmen nearest them in soft, reasonable tones.

"We can't let this happen...Hutch...we can't let this happen." The brunet was muttering, his arms wrapped around his bruised and broken torso, barely on his feet, and looking like he was about puke again at any moment. 'What the hell was Dave gonna do?', Tom wanted to ask but he kept quiet, still scanning. Listening to the couple tell the gunmen about their grandchildren. About the money they could give. About the private plane they could charter.

Tom noticed that Barbara was shaking, wrapping her hands gripping her arms tight enough to leave white marks, despite the heat that the crush of terrified people had begun to generate. So she had brains enough to be scared after all, Tom thought. Good for her.

"Shut up, Starsk." Ken said, brusquely.

Starsk. Hutch. Starsky. Hutchinson. Suddenly Tom knew them. Suddenly he understood who they were. Not just any old cops. The names Starsky and Hutchinson were either famous or infamous in certain circles, depending on who you talked to. They weren't photographed often but their names frequently showed up in news articles when high-profile witnesses were being escorted into the courtroom. The courtroom where Tom had worked as janitorial staff for almost forty years.

Retirement had forced him into another field but...he remembered those two now. Hot shots. Unlike the cops that showed up in real suits and dress shoes, these two would barely give the judge the respect of a sport coat and tie. They liked to shout about the injustices of the system and had made more enemies of lawyers and judges and DAs than any other police partnership in the four decades that Tom worked there.

He was custodial staff, yes, but that meant he was the one cleaning up the courtrooms after one or the other lost his temper. At least once one of them had managed to rip the small swinging door that separated the public from the front of the court room, clean off its hinges. Bending the metal frame and snapping off the head of one of the screws. It had been a real bitch to repair overnight. All because the blond had had a bad day in court.

Then there was cleaning the blood out of the men's room when the brunet was kidnapped. The police had taken over the room for a few hours, taking photos and fingerprint impressions. None of them had been interested in helping him clean the mess. Mess, mess, mess. And ever so frequently connected with those two cops.

Now the stadium he was meant to guard was blown to bits, there were dead bodies scattering the turf and the stands and lining the concrete promenade. Someone had just crashed a car through the gated staff parking area and those two...Tom gave them a heated glance, then refocused on the older couple at the edge of the group.

They'd walked away from the crowd, either side of one of the gunman, looking like they were negotiating with him. The older man had a hand hesitantly laid against the gunman's shoulder. The older woman was walking with a sway to her hips, scanning the other gunmen, inviting them to sample the goods, if only with their eyes.

They might have thought they were saving themselves but Tom knew they'd just been culled. It was a different sort of weakness, and yet the same. Weakness born of arrogance. Arrogance that tricked the mind into thinking there was no reason to fear. That money would win out. Tom watched the two cops when the older couple was executed.

He kept a hard hold on the blond's arm, especially when the cop tried to surge forward. Tom yanked him back, harder than was necessary and the blond caught the edge of the hate-filled glare Tom had been giving him. The guard tried to look away in time but failed, and was captured by the deep blue eyes. A lot passed between them in that moment.

Tom looked away. He didn't want to see the blond's resolve hardening. He didn't want to see what he had, perhaps, misjudged in the man. He wanted to hate somebody, and the blond was the closest. Another burst of gunshots and they were ordered to sit on the turf again. Most of the crowd responded immediately.

Starsky and Hutch were the last to go down, Hutch stubbornly clinging to his partner and Starsky watching the gunmen handle the bodies of the older couple. Some of the back-clad men had begun to drag the rest of the bodies from the turf as well, into the stands. The dead became a grotesque audience for the 'game' on the field.

Before his knees and his lungs stopped cooperating, Starsky wondered if the macabre irony had been part of the plan all along. Or if one those masked sadists just had a weird sense of humor.

Thirty minutes later, as if nothing had happened, the men in black rolled catering carts onto the field with barrels of water, and styrofoam cups were passed through the group, filled with water. A cup for each person. Enough to keep them hydrated, but not enough to begin a rash of bathroom breaks.

As Hutch recieved his cup he remembered the bottle of aspirin in his pocket and wondered why it had taken him so long to remember. He'd purchased the aspirin before the explosions, for a headache that paled in comparison to the pain in his skull now.

There were eight pills in the bottle and he took two for himself, palmed two for his partner and reserved part of what was in his cup. The water was ice cold enough, that it could be used to treat some of the swelling on Starsky's face. His partner had passed out, but Hutch brought him around with a swipe or two of the cold water against his forehead. While Starsky drank his cup of water in slow sips, swallowing the aspirins in the process, Hutch looked at the bruising on his side.

Tom watched the blond's face pale, his eyes expressing instantly how bad the injury looked. Blue eyes went to Starsky's face, as if Hutchinson were reassuring himself that, despite the bruising, Starsky was still conscious, coherent, drinking water on his own without drowning. The act of staying upright, drinking a full cup of water, and breathing all at the same time, exhausted the dark haired man. Hutch was there to guide him back to the ground, make sure he was comfortable, then Hutch buried his own face in the same blood stained wet towel.

The light from the sun had shifted over the hour, the temperature on the field going from blazing and uncomfortable to warm and breezy. Soon the sun would be blocked by the stadium roof, casting the group on the field in shadow, and warming the stadium seats. And everything in them.

Their discomfort was going to rise. The likelihood that the group of mostly strangers would begin to fight amongst themselves was growing. Hutch lowered the towel and scanned the group hoping for some of the familiar faces he'd noticed that morning. He had to smirk at the sight of Dorice on the other side of the circle, her frightened face quiet and in profile. There were a few cops too, but they were soldiers. Young guys only a few years out of the academy. He recognized a few court officers vaguely.

There was Tom and Barbara, though the accusatory look he'd gotten from Tom seemed more like a death threat. Kiko...him….Starsky. Not enough. The crowd had stretched out, giving Starsky and Hutch room to lay down and making room for themselves as well. The horror of the execution had wiped some people out and even the revival of a cup of water had done little to keep them awake.

Sleep was necessary, yes, but Hutch had the feeling that if they waited another hour...

The group of black clad men had seemed calm, mechanical, robotic...but they were also showing evidence of sadism, calculated madness.

If their goal was to level the playing field...to wipe out a good portion of the cops and the city workers that would otherwise be processing their bail, reading them their rights, putting them through the system and back in….. _back_ in jail.

"They're cons…" Hutch said.

Starsky rustled against his knees and mumbled, "What?"

"Cons...Starsk. Who could afford this many mercenaries? To be exposed for this long? Huh? When have you seen professional killers willingly….mishandle bodies? They're wearing masks but none of them have their hands shielded. Starsky-"

"I get it...get it. What do you wanna do about it?"

"Well…" Hutch said, looking around him at the group. No...at the collection of individuals. They weren't a group, not yet. "We gotta figure out what our strengths are...our weaknesses. Become cohesive."

"You wanna give a motivational speech?"

Hutch frowned at the sarcasm, then frowned again at the pain that frowning caused. Then he thought about the one thing he didn't have that might have passed him off as a writer, and looked to Barbara.

"Hey…" He called quietly, and Barbara's hazel eyes snapped towards his. Hutch mimed pen and paper and Barbara had another spasm, patting her pockets before she produced both.

Barbara scooted over to them, forcing Tom to move away, rather than just handing the articles over. "What do you need them for?" She asked, whispering, but in a way that drew the attention of twelve people around them.

Hutch glared, amazed at her incapacity for subtlety, then set the pad of paper on his knee and tried to think. Then he wrote, "The men with guns are cons." He ripped the piece of paper from the pad and folded it then said, "Pass that around."

Barbara stared at the simple note for a long time before she handed it to Tom who reluctantly gave it to Kiko. From Kiko the note disappeared, and Hutch could only hope that it circulated quietly but effectively to the whole group.

He waited fifteen minutes, watching the crowd, making quiet conversation with Barbara while Starsky tried to sleep, letting the group settle, watching the masked men in black. Then he wrote, "If we work together, we will get out of this alive."

Again the note was passed and Hutch hid the notepad and the pen under his legs before he checked on the bruising on Starsky's side. It hadn't spread, that he could tell, but the sound of Starsky's breathing hadn't improved any.

Heads were starting to rotate, trying to figure out where the note had come from. Hutch joined them, pretending like he wasn't the origin and encouraging Tom, Barbara and Kiko to do the same. Again he let the group settle, waiting until no one was looking around, then wrote his final note before their second hour was up.

"Nothing happens without risk. If you want these guys to go down, when you hear the words, "Take them." Jump the guy nearest you. Take away their guns. There are more of us than there are of them."

Barbara took the note from him, read it, then crumpled it up and snatched the pen and paper from him.

Hutch frowned, looked a little hurt and collected his crumpled note, trying to see what Barbara was writing. She kept the pad of paper tilted away intentionally and wouldn't let him see it, folding the note herself and passing it down the line.

Conversation immediately followed this note, but the crowd kept it to a minimum, more surreptitious than ever about passing the note along. Hutch ducked his head and demanded to know what Barbara had written.

"You know...if you tell people they're probably gonna die, they're not gonna risk their lives. You gotta lie to 'em a little."

"What did you write?"

"Back up is on the way. When you hear the signal, "Take them." we clobber these guys. Take away their guns. Go home to supper."

"Back up…is on the way?" Hutch clarified, his voice even quieter and sharper than before.

Barbara shrugged and Hutch rolled his eyes. The catering carts were rolled out again, the cups of water passed around. This time Hutch didn't drink his at all, but woke his partner, gave him a warning then laid the towel against Starsky's bare chest and soaked it with the entire cup of water.

Starsky's eyes went wide and he squirmed a little, but it woke him up and after a few minutes, admittedly felt good. Hutch gave Starsky two of the remaining four aspirin, waiting until he had swallowed them.

"I think we have a plan partner."

"Yeah, I heard. Didn't sound like a plan. Sounded like-"

A couple of shrieks rose from the group. Two of the gunmen were wading into the circle, one of them with a crumpled white paper in his hand. They were headed right for Hutch and Starsky, and Hutch grabbed the pad of paper and pen from Barbara at the last minute, letting the the gunmen see it intentionally before he shoved it under his shirt.

Starsky was trying to get up, and Hutch called Kiko, then pointed at his partner on the ground before the blond was dragged to his feet. Kiko and Tom moved in, easily keeping Starsky from rising.

"Let me up!" Starsky screamed, even as Barbara and a few others shot to their feet.

Hutch caught sight of Starsky's white face, strained with pain, rising into a sitting position with Kiko's help, then he was turned, took a gun butt to the belly and went to his knees on the turf thirty feet from the group. The crumpled white paper was shoved in his face and one of the men demanded, "Did you write this?"

Hutch didn't respond and the crumple of paper was forced against his swollen nose, shooting agony through his face and down his spine. He choked on fresh blood, spat it out of his mouth with a cry of pain and let his head hang, eyes blinded with tears he couldn't control.

The blood didn't last long this time, old clots encouraging new ones quickly. Hutch raised his head, snatched the crumpled ball out of the man's hand and opened it to find his first note. Hutch spat, the blood and saliva landed on a military boot, inexpertly tied. The boot disappeared from his field of vision and Hutch expected the gun butt to come crashing down on his back.

Instead he was dragged back to his feet.

The note was the first one he had written, the expose identifying the men as cons. They'd gone to a great deal of trouble to look uniform, with the black outfits, the boots, each man carrying the same kind of weapon, wearing the same kind of mask. Hutch supposed putting all that effort to waste with one note might upset them a little.

"You think we're cons?" The man demanded. Behind the cloth of the mask his breath stank. The speaker took a handful of Hutch's shirt in one fist and jerked Hutch's head and shoulders around, rattling the headache. Rattling the broken bones in his nose. Hutch closed his eyes tight and worked at schooling his features.

"A two-bit, half-pint writer boy...ain't it illegal for reporters to write shit that ain't true?"

"Only if its published." Hutch bit out. "In this case...it is true." The grip on his shirt tightened and twisted and the fabric of his collar tightened painfully around Hutch's neck. The man behind the mask saw it, liked it, and gave another twist that Hutch wasn't going to take anymore.

He kicked out and connected with something soft and vulnerable with his knee, then was dropped. Barbara's blind, liar's promise, rang in his pounding head as he stumbled back. His arms were captured, yanked hard behind his back, then up, and Hutch waited for the first blow thinking, 'Back up. Why wouldn't back up be on the way?'

He watched the now wheezing bad guy struggle to get a pair of brass knuckles out of a pocket of the black coat and wondered why the man in the press box was still silent. Who? With that accent, and absolute control of these ex-cons...who could possibly be behind all this? And why?

The blow to the nether regions had done a lot of damage, buying Hutch time, even if that time was spent with his shoulders nearly dislocated. Time to think...time for his mind to bounce haphazardly from one worry to the next. To wonder if Molly and the others had made it out after all. If Molly had gone for help. If backup, real back up, really was on the way.

He'd just gotten done thinking that when they heard the unmistakable roar of a V8 engine coming from one of the tunnels. The engine was louder and deeper than the one that they had heard plowing through the parking lot hours before. The car that had likely killed the now very dead bad guy was not the same car that came tearing onto the field, flying over the edge of the ramp and tearing up turf in a headlong slide into the outfield. The steering wheel was turned toward the third base line, the driver invisible or else non-existent...or a teenager who had, more than a few times, played the "invisible man" gag on her friends.

"Oh….that's bad." Hutch said, panting, sagging against the arms that held him.

Starsky's eyes had been focused unceasingly on his partner. He'd managed to coerce Kiko into getting him on his feet and it'd hurt like hell, but he was pretty sure he was standing. He heard the engine before he saw the car, instinctively knew the sound of the growl and he watched the turf fly with a hard grin forming on his face.

The bad guys were breaking apart, some going after the red car, others getting the hell out of its way.

Hutch took in a deep breath, pushed hard against the turf and forced the bad guys holding him to backpedal. Before they could get the right footing, all three had tripped and gone down to the turf and Hutch shouted, "It's now or never, guys! Take 'em!"

And suddenly Tom and Barbara understood why the name Starsky and Hutch came up so frequently. Because an entire crowd of otherwise cowed, sheepish people instantly responded to that voice and started to mob the thirty men with guns, easily outnumbering them 4 to 1.

The Torino continued to roar in circles, tearing up the turf and taking out a few of the bad guys before one of them landed on the roof. By then Starsky had managed to get to the edge of the crowd with Kiko's help. He put his fingers to swollen lips and whistled shrill and loud. He was able to keep to his feet if he stood in one spot. He picked a deserted one and waved the Torino closer, and watched the cherry red Ford with a white blaze came to a fishtailing halt, inches from his knees.

The sudden stop knocked the bad guy from his perch and Starsky side stepped the flying body, then used the hood of the car to get around to the driver's side, thumped into the bucket seat and worked hard at staying conscious. He didn't have time to tell Molly how he felt about his car being used as a distraction, so he just shook his finger, squeezed the grinning girl's hand, then did the one thing he could probably still do from his deathbed.

Drive his baby.

It took him a couple of hard turns to get his breath back and when he did he spared Molly a glance.

"Get the kids out?"

Molly nodded. She had slipped down into the footwell of the passenger seat, managing to fold herself into a small, but comfortable looking ball there. She'd made no attempts to get up and see the action and Starsky figured there was a good reason for that. It was just as well.

"Is Kiko okay?" She asked, then held on tight when Starsky shouted for her to brace herself, closing her eyes tightly at the impact of the front of the Torino side-swiping someone, then fixed her brown on Starsky's blue.

"Yeah. He's fine." Starsky said, not bothering to mention that since Hutch's shout for a charge he had no way of knowing if anyone was ok. Starsky drove the car toward the outskirts of the field, avoiding the melee for a bit and scanning the stadium seats, then the pressbox. The first bout of fire had come from there. He doubted that the mysterious voice had been alone in his 'castle' or that he was unarmed. Why the voice was choosing not to open up and back up his guys concerned Starsky.

In fact, the voice had been quiet since before Hutch had been singled out from the crowd. _Why_ was the voice quiet? Had he turned tail? Saved himself? Was there more to come? That second explosion Starsky had been, at the back of his mind, hoping wouldn't happen?

The euphoria that seeing his car, and a second chance at turning the tables, had brought him was sinking into his stomach. The pain that had been hidden by the rush of adrenaline was coming back, along with the nausea, and Starsky leaned back, forcing his lungs into a rhythm.

"What's wrong?" Molly asked. Her voice quiet, small.

"I dunno." Starsky said, then gritted his teeth, put the car in gear and rolled back into the fray. "Stay down."


	5. Chapter 5

Soldiers in blue were starting to flood into the stadium. Whether it had been planned, which Starsky seriously doubted, or not, Molly's Torino-fueled rush onto the baseball field had given the police the opening they must have been waiting for. They'd pushed through the tunnel with riot helmets and shields, shouting for everyone to hit the dirt.

The cops had no way of knowing what they were going to find on the other side. What they did find must have been sobering.

"Did you call the police?" Starsky asked.

"They were already there...when I crashed through the gate." Molly said.

Starsky nodded his head once. The explosion alone had to have rocked the neighborhood and left a plume of smoke in the sky that would attract anyone's attention. Follow that up with gunshots and the police would know there was a dangerous situation going on. Maybe they'd been in contact with the accented voice. Maybe they'd been shot at by someone out in the parking lot.

Something had stopped the cavalry from rushing in for almost two hours. Had it really taken a hot-headed kid like Molly, stealing his Torino, to bring the good guys in?

The thought dragged uncomfortably through Starsky's brain, making his pulse rise, and the ringing in his ear take a higher pitch. Starsky drove the car toward where he had last seen the blond head, found his partner pulling an enraged Dorice off an unconscious bad guy and honked the horn.

Given that the Torino was the only car driving around the baseball field it wasn't necessary to use the horn, but the blare of sound in a place where it didn't belong served to surprise everyone in the stadium. A few more of the bad guys gave up the ghost, and a few more of the frozen and shocked good guys moved back into action.

Hutch took the time to make sure Dorice was okay and point her rage toward a more worthy goal than, say, beating up an unconscious body, then Hutch aimed for the car. Starsky yanked Molly with one hand into the middle of the front seat seconds before Hutch landed in the passenger seat and swept the door closed.

"We really had backup." Hutch said, breathing hard.

Molly nodded, a small pride-filled smile coming to her face. Starsky tried to lean for the radio, instantly felt bone grind on bone in his side and groaned, straightening in the seat. The sound captured the attention of the other two in the car.

"Let's get outta here, partner.." Hutch suggested, reaching around Molly for the radio and switching it on. "Zebra Three to…whoever's out there running this thing."

"Zebra three this is Riot Command."

"Riot command?" Starsky asked, cranking the wheel and meeting the same stunned smirk that he was giving Hutch.

"What will they think of next?" Hutch muttered then toggled the handset. "Riot Command this is Zebra Three, we're in the hot red Torino heading your way. Please don't shoot us."

"Copy Zebra Three...that was a damned fool stunt you pulled."

Both men turned accusatory glances toward Molly who flushed beet red and sank a little lower in her seat.

"Riot Command...any chance Captain Dobey of Precinct 9 is there?"

"Yeah, he's here. And he's smirking."

A second later the radio squawked and Dobey's voice sounded. "Starsky, Hutch." They heard the sigh. The "sigh" said about a dozen different things including, "Damn glad to hear your voices. You boys worried me to death. How bad is it? Will you live? How can I get you out of the potential mess we're all in." One sigh. Then Dobey said, "Report!"

"Bruises and a couple of broken bones. We're headed your way."

"Hey-" Starsky said softly, then wiggled his fingers against each other until Hutch handed him the mic. "Cap, any chance you've got a bomb squad out there?"

"As I understand it, they're part of the standard Riot Command package. Are they needed?"

Starsky glanced to his partner, meeting Hutch's creased brows with a questioning look of his own before they both looked at Molly.

The girl felt the eyes before they actually got to her and fiddled with the bottom hem of her shirt for a second then said, "I told you guys all I knew."

Neither of the two blue-eyed gazes wavered and Molly looked up again, squirmed, then said, "I might have remembered something else."

"I hope _that's_ why you came back." Hutch said.

"And stole my Torino and crashed it through that tunnel like it was a derby car." Starsky said, a little heat behind the statement. "Send 'em in, Cap." Starsky added into the radio, before he focused again on Molly.

Molly had blushed, her eyes widening. Hutch saw the tears before they could appear and gave Starsky a look and the brunet sighed.

"What else did you remember?" Starsky asked, leaning his head back against the seat and pulling the car to a gentle halt outside the crowded tunnel, waiting for it to clear before he tried to take the Torino through it.

"The guys were talking about a timer."

"The guys...the guys from the vent?" Hutch asked.

"Yeah. Before I heard them say the part about "leveling the playing field" they said, "The first one is by remote. The second one is on a timer."

Starsky's eyes opened to slits. "They say how long?"

"I don't know." Molly said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I wasn't listening."

"Which locker room do you change in?" Hutch asked.

"There's only one on the home side. The one down this tunnel." Molly said, pointing to the long concrete hole in the ground that Starsky had parked the car in front of, letting the engine idle while floods of cavalry moved in and out.

Starsky and Hutch looked at each other, Molly's head ping-ponging back and forth between them.

"If we can find him in that mess behind us, Tom would be helpful." Hutch said.

"Tom hates us." Starsky said, then paled and squirmed. The grinding in his side was not a sensation he was ever going to get used to. It hurt, sapped the energy from his arms and legs and took the breath from his lungs every time.

"Starsk…" Hutch said, then laid his hand on Starsky's shoulder and squeezed. "You two should get outta here while you still can."

"No, I'll stay with the car, you take Molly and Tom-"

"Starsky-"

"No, Hutch."

The blond clamped his face shut, along with his mouth then turned in time to catch Tom passing by with a group of cops. Hutch rolled his window down and waved the older man over then looked back to his partner.

"Suppose we find the bomb, huh? Suppose there's one minute on the clock and we gotta take off. How fast can you run, the shape you're in?"

Starsky put his teeth together, thought about the question then said, "Who's running? I have the car."

"No-"

"Yes."

"No!" Hutch insisted.

"You're wasting time." Starsky said, his tone of voice abruptly ending the argument.

Hutch forced the passenger side door open, pulling Molly a little roughly after him and into the tunnel. When the door closed again the Torino rocked and Starsky winced, felt a tug at the back of his throat and started to cough.

Blind, mindless pain raced up his side, the pain making the urge to cough worse, the urge to cough in turn making the pain increase, leading to panicked, short breaths. When the hot wet blood in his lungs finally came out, splatting against the palm of his hand, it took everything in Starsky's power to stop the cycle. Starsky stared at the blood, wiped it on his pants then considered whether or not he was going to admit, even to himself, that Hutch was right. It gave him time to calm the burning pain in his throat, the tortured breaths that left him shaking weakly in the driver's seat.

Even holding the brake pedal down felt like a challenge he might lose now.

But...he wouldn't abandon his partner. He couldn't.

The alternative was truly unbearable.

Once he was able, Starsky pulled the Torino into the tunnel, even with the door to the locker room that Tom, Hutch and Molly had disappeared into. He threw the parking brake but kept the engine running, braced his side and let his head rest against the window frame. The urge to cough again began to build at the back of his throat and he did everything he could to ignore it.

He could feel pressure building under the pain and more than a few times the thought flittered through his brain, 'If only I didn't have to breathe.' He recognized the obsurdity of it and spent a few minutes distracted by the puzzle of how to remain alive, without oxygen passing through his lungs.

He fell asleep that way. Lulled by the throb of the Torino's engine, following the siren song toward the land of no pain, as the exhaust from the car filled the tunnel.

* * *

When Starsky woke again it was to the flash of lights passing by overhead. He could feel the soft plastic of an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, but the confinement of the strap around the back of his head made his heart-rate spike. He tried to reach for it and felt hands capturing his. He struggled, brought the other hand up, then heard Hutch's voice telling someone, "He doesn't like the strap. I'll hold the mask."

His head was lifted, the strap dragged through the hair on the back of his skull, some of the pressure sealing the mask to his face went away, and Starsky felt fingers in his hair.

"Relax, buddy. Breathe slow. That's it."

Starsky reached for the hand, his fingers flying through the air like an acrobat's, trusting that the other guy was going to catch him before he fell. And Hutch was there, capturing the hand, returning it to the gurney and moving so that he was in view at Starsky's side.

The rolling bed careened into the exam room and Hutch went with it, finally visible. It took Starsky a long time to figure out what was wrong with his partner's face. The day had left Hutch with a painful looking sunburn, the curse of being fair haired and fair skinned. Under the red were the bruises and swelling around his nose and eyes. His hair had been swept up and back, flat against his skull, like he'd been doused with water.

Starsky could smell the smoke on him, could see patches of much redder, glistening skin under scorched holes in Hutch's shirt. But the thing that bothered Starsky the most was that Hutch was scared. It radiated off his partner like a stench and Starsky's brow creased, the curly-haired man entirely focused on the mystery until the pain came rushing back with the shift from the gurney to the hospital bed in the middle of the exam room.

The rest was a blur of blinding pain, rising and falling panic, interrupted by moments of clarity during which the thought would return, 'Why was Hutch scared?' Every time Starsky would seek out his partner, study him for as long as he could remain lucid, come seconds close to knowing the answer, only to have the pain return and the solution fly from his head.

He'd heard the words 'x-ray' and 'surgery' enough times to know he would be knocked out soon. The way the doctors were talking, it would be for a long time and the question that he could barely remember, unresolved as it was, bugged Starsky too much to let that happen without a fight. On the way out the door he threw both arms out, grabbing at anything he could and arresting the progress of the team trying to get him from the ER to the OR.

A nurse, who meant well, but didn't understand, kept trying to tuck Starsky's hands against the blanket, but the cop wouldn't cooperate. He was trying to talk but his throat felt numb, and the pain was beginning to go away, and his mind somehow connected making noise with bringing the pain back.

Starsky didn't want that. But the question was still there. On their way into the elevator he managed to catch one hand on the side of the door frame, skewed the gurney sideways and accidentally squished a nurse in the process. The doctor, realizing there was something wrong, finally paid attention to his patient, heard the word "hush" come through the mask and rolled the gurney briefly back into the hallway.

"Get the man's partner, quick, or we'll never make it to the OR."

Hutch was there instantly, or else Starsky had passed out in the time it took to bring Hutch over. His shirt was off, most of the patches on his skin covered with special bandages meant to treat burns.

"What are you, crazy? Starsk, you gotta let them take you to surgery." Hutch began, even before he had Starsky's floating hand in his.

"Scared.."

"I know...I know, buddy. I know you're scared, but it's gonna be.." Hutch took a breath, forced it from his lungs and squeezed the hand in his. "It's gonna be fine if you just let these doctors do their job."

Starsky's head rolled on the pillow, then his pointer finger unfolded from across the back of Hutch's hand and he said, "Scared."

Hutch looked down at himself, realized what Starsky was saying and felt something so terrifying it nearly dumped him on the floor. Starsky was worried about him. His partner had halted the rush to surgery, the desperate race to save his own life, because he'd sensed the fear Hutch harbored for Starsky's life...and Starsky was concerned.

Hutch put his free hand against his partner's cheek, wanting to shake the foolish man, at the same time overwhelmed by that terrifying wave...of love.

"I'm fine, buddy." Hutch said, knowing there were tears on his face. He kept his eyes on Starsky's and finally felt the brunet accept what he'd said. "I need you to be fine. Cooperate, ok." Another moment, another long stare into deep blue eyes, then Starsky nodded. "I'll see ya." Hutch crushed his partner's hand, felt Starsky's grip in return, weaker, but the intent was there.

They rolled his partner into the elevator and Hutch stood in the hallway, waiting for the doors to close before he leaned against the wall, slid down to the floor and wept.

* * *

TBC - Look for "Third Base"


End file.
